


The Price of Audacity

by PhoenixBorn



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-17 09:26:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4661436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixBorn/pseuds/PhoenixBorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kinkmeme fill finally being posted here. <br/>"Fenris finally snaps and goes at Merrill with intent to kill...."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Price of Audacity

Fenris ran a whetstone over his blade, humming an old Tevene melody he was only beginning to remember, the scraping sound in time with the song. The quiet moments he enjoyed in what was once a master bedroom, particularly when it was sunny and warm like it was that day. On days and nights when the weather was fair, he was partial to that room as he could look up at the sky and watch the clouds and stars. So he basked in the moments where even the busy people outside his mansion were just white noise.

A series of footsteps sounded from the stairs to the main hall - mail, hard leather, and soft feet all against stone. Looking up, he saw Hawke come in his room via the open door, Sebastian and Merrill standing politely by the railings, all three armed and armored.

"Another job along the Coast?" Fenris greeted the dagger-wielding rogue.

He smiled in reply, "Sundermount this time. Merrill asked for a favor."

Fenris frowned at him and asked, "This isn't about that artifact of hers, is it?"

"As a matter of fact, it is," he replied.

"Hawke," Fenris groaned. The elf placed his materials down, stood up, and gestured for Hawke to follow. The men moved to the far back corner of the room. Fenris turned to face Hawke, glanced over the big man's shoulder, then locked eyes with him.

"Why are you aiding her?" the elf said softly, "You are only encouraging her."

"Merrill made up her mind before we even met," Hawke replied gently, "The best I can do is damage control."

"I hope you know what you're doing," the warrior said.

"Me too," Hawke replied. They exchanged a soft kiss before returning to the other companions, Fenris grabbing his sword along the way. Then the four departed the mansion and made their way to Sundermount.

At the mountain's base, they moved with a purpose past the clan, many of whom were watching them with dark eyes. They dispatched a few ghouls on their way up the narrow pass that went beyond the cave Hawke had to enter during his second year in Kirkwall. Eventually they reached the top where a demon was supposed to be locked away, only to find that it was empty. Then Keeper Marethari revealed herself and admitted to taking in the demon to spare Merrill of the repercussions of her actions. The mage girl was on the verge of tears when they had to kill her old tutor, and collapsed on the ground when the battle was over.

Merrill had known all along that the spirit would one day demand its toll. She had accepted it, and even planned how to request the others to slay her if the price was herself. It was her decision, her task, her responsibility, and hers alone. But Keeper took that from her and her oldest friend and lifelong guide was gone.

Hawke waited with a look of sadness and let her weep, granted her a few moments before they had to leave. Both Fenris and Sebastian kept silent, the other elf in contempt and the other human in some sympathy. Eventually, Hawke lent out his hand to her. She looked up at him with tears in her eyes, then accepted it. He helped her up and she rubbed at her face, and through the hurt she kept walking with the others.

Even so, throughout everything that had happened in their time together, Merrill did not expect Hawke to stand up for her. But he did, and the whole of her clan drew their swords and bows. Attacks came from everywhere at once, as the Dalish surrounded them - Hawke, Sebastian, Fenris, and herself. The twin blades the Champion twirled in his hands found their marks in an elf's shoulders before he vanished in a puff of smoke. The light of Fenris' lyrium shined in her eyes and sung in her ears as his ghostly light exploded and sent several hunters screaming. The twang of a bow sounded and Sebastian's arrow went whizzing by her ear to impale another one in the throat. Another wave came upon them, and, tears stinging her eyes, she released a wave of lightning on her former family.

Both sides pressed forward, and Merrill recognized the hunting techniques they used, but there were too many, too much, too fast for her to warn the others; the best she could do was keep up. She threw a hex in one direction, more lightning in another. She caught a glimpse of Hawke before casting a Stone's Throw in the direction of Master Ilen's apprentice and turning around to ensnare one more in roots and vines. Fenris cut more down, and his lyrium eventually kept the hunters from coming in too close. Sebastian's arrows thinned out the archers one by one, though many of the Dalish arrows met their mark as well. Finally, when the battle was done and the blood of the bodies soaked the ground beneath their feet, they put their weapons away.

Sebastian looked around and said, "Where is Hawke?"

Merrill and Fenris looked around as well. The three began to call out his name. They called and searched and called again. Then Fenris' voice halted. Merrill turned to see him on his knees looking over the edge of a sheer cliff. She walked up and looked over. The rough and rocky cliff face had smatterings of blood and a tall and sharp peak covered in blood. On either side of the peak was one half of Hawke's body, each limb bent at freakish angles in places bones shouldn't bend and a partially crushed skull. The broken body of Master Ilen's apprentice had rolled several yards away. Clasping her hands in front of her mouth while stifling a gasp, Merrill took several steps back.

Fenris, meanwhile, stared - helpless, thoughtless. Then he clenched his teeth and fists until his claws drew blood from his palms. Tears broke through in their own accord and he hunched in on himself, tense shoulders shuddering. He whipped his head around, feral eyes locking in on the mage.

Merrill lowered her hands and said, "I didn't mean to."

Suddenly his hands were around her throat and her back slammed against stone. Stars flickered in her eyes and Fenris' gauntlets cut into her skin.

"This is your fault!" he shouted.

"Fenris, it was an accident!" Sebastian called out. Despite it, Fenris began to glow and he poised one hand over her heart, wild in its cage.

"I should have done this long ago," Fenris growled. She squirmed, blood leaking out of her neck and side and leg.

With a flash of realization, she reached for her life energy and planted her hands on his chest, then shoved the magic into his body. His eyes widened, then he bent over and started wheezing. Quickly the thin sound turned to violent coughs and he collapsed again, doubled over, and started spitting blood. The blood started in droplets, but after a few heaves it came in large splats, drenching his lips and the ground in red.

"Fenris!" Sebastian called and ran to kneel beside his friend. Looking up at the mage from his new position, he yelled, "What did you do?"

More blood was forced from Fenris' mouth and the rogue let out a startled gasp. The human gathered the warrior and lifted him over his shoulder, then began to jog back to Kirkwall, muttering for the Tevene to hold on until they reached Anders. Knees giving out, Merrill slid down the wall of the mountain and sat, her breathe heavy and head light. Her sense of orientation seemed to dissipate and her muscles felt floppy. She stared at the sky until a buzzing sang inside her head and her eyes fluttered shut on their own account, incapable of following as she tried to will them to open. Then even her sense of being faded away.

The next time she opened her eyes, she saw not blue skies but a dark earthen ceiling. She looked around, found a tall mirror with no reflection on her left, walls on her right and at her head, and open archway some ways off in the direction of her feet. There was light coming from there and warmth and a smell. A woman walked in - a dark woman, a woman she knew.

“You’re awake. Good,” the human woman said, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“Isabela,” Merrill remembered, “How… how long have I been asleep?”

“Long enough,” the pirate replied. The elf struggled to sit up, but the human gently pushed her back down to the mattress.

“Relax,” Isabela said, “You lost a lot of blood, and Anders has refused to treat you. You need rest, food, and water.”

Merrill did as she was told and stared up at the her friend’s face. The mage blinked a few times, and said, “Fenris. Is he…?”

“Dead,” Isabela stated. They sat together quietly for a few moments.

“I heard about what happened,” the rogue finally announced, “Fenris was a fool - he shouldn’t have attacked you like that. You’re a powerful mage and Hawke’s death was an accident.”

“Thank you Isabela, but you don’t have to,” Merrill muttered.

“I just don’t want you to think you’re all alone in this. If no one else does, just know that Isabela has your back,” the pirate replied.

Merrill gave a weak smile. Then it slipped from her face and she blinked a few times.

“The body… what will they… Fenris’ body…” she tried to communicate with a fuddled mind.

“Traditionally, when a person dies, a ceremony is held outside the Chantry and a pyre is lit with the body on it,” Isabela informed, “They’ll probably do it outside the walls of the city.”

The elf shook her head, the loose muscles exaggerating her intended movement greatly, then said, “No, I want… he’s Elvhen, he needs… my clan, they need…” she looked at the pirate again and took a moment to collect herself, “I want Fenris’ body. And trees. Lots of trees.”

“What for, kitten?” Isabela asked with a raised brow.

“My clan and Fenris, they need a funeral. I can’t… I can’t give them a proper funeral, but I need to. I need to,” the mage said.

“I can talk to the Chantry. They’re not citizens of Kirkwall, but I don’t think it’ll be an issue,” the human offered.

Merrill shook her head again and said, “No. No burning. They need to be buried. And trees - we plant saplings over the graves of the fallen. They are Elvhen, so… no burning.”

The pirate looked at her friend a little longer and said, “If it’s that important to you, I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you,” the elf sighed with a smile.

After a few moments, Isabela stood up mentioning something about food and left the room. After several minutes, she returned with a bowl of soup and a spoon. She helped Merrill sit up, then fed her gradually. When the bowl was mostly finished and the elf could no longer eat, the pirate took it away to be rinsed and encouraged the mage to rest. The elf laid in the bed while Isabela wandered around the other room. There was some noise: some shifting papers, the scrape of a chair, the scratching of a pen. Isabela stood again and walked outside of Merrill’s vision. She heard the door open and beyond her friend shouting at someone if they wanted to make some quick coin, she couldn’t hear what her friend said.

Merrill didn’t really pay attention to the time between laying in bed, eating, or drinking. Isabela told her a few stories, some that made her laugh. At some point, Varric came and Isabela left. He sat down on a box he dragged out from somewhere and gave her a smile that was easy enough, contradicting the worn and weary eyes. He helped her as well - gave her food and told her stories that came from his imagination instead of his memories. She loved those stories. He didn’t tell her any of the ones that starred Hawke, or Fenris, or any of them, but she did get stories of gryphons. At some point after she woke up from another collection of sleep, Varric had disappeared and Isabela was curled up on a makeshift mattress on the floor. When the Rivaini woke up, the two enjoyed breakfast together, Merrill sitting up on her own with much less difficulty than the last time.

"Hawke's funeral is going to be held tomorrow," Isabela mentioned.

Merrill thought a moment and said, "I'd like to go. If that's alright, that is."

The human opened her mouth, but then just looked at her.

"If you think you can handle it. It's a public funeral, so a lot of people are going to be there. The gathering starts in front of the Chantry and the priests lead everyone out the city," the elf's friend informed.

"I... don't know if I will then," Merrill muttered.

"Suit yourself," Isabela said, "I never go to these things anyhow. Their so dreary and all they talk about is 'Maker, Maker, Maker.' It's a script - they say the same bloody thing for everyone."

"But shemlen ought to-" the Dale cut herself off as the Rivaini raised an eyebrow, then murmured, "Nevermind." Isabela watched her for a few more moments, then finished her meal, eventually getting up to collect the dishes. A little while later, a knock sounded at the door and the human went to answer it. With a click then a slam, the door opened and closed, and Varric walked into the bedroom with the pirate behind him.

"I tried pulling some strings. Unfortunately, the soonest we can get those trees is four or five days from now," Varric grunted.

"Figures. We can't wait either - there won't be much left of the bodies otherwise," Isabela commented, then said to Merrill, "Is it alright if we bury them now?"

The Dale turned the idea over in her head for a bit, then said, "If their graves were half-full and the trees planted later, I think... I think that would be acceptable."

The human gave a few kind parting words and left elf and dwarf alone. The entire time they were alone, he did not mention Hawke nor Fenris. It was only so long that he could continuously look at her face, she noticed - perhaps a quarter of an hour at a time. Once she reached to place a hand on his shoulder and he stood muttering about needing to put a fire on that very instant. Aveline came by later in the evening, though she said very little beyond commenting on Merrill’s recovery. With a hollow look in her eyes, the guardswoman left not very long after she had arrived.

Merrill stayed home the next day to continue her recovery while the body of her friend was being burned beyond the walls of the city. How silly it seemed to think of Hawke as a friend only now that he was gone. He let her walk though he warned her not to take the steps - like Marethari. That mirror - that stupid obsession of hers since it took Tamlen away - claimed its toll and she was left with nothing. Was it worth it? Uncovering a small piece of her people’s heritage used to be worth everything - but she thought everything meant her mind, body, and soul. Fool that she was, she even thought once she’d be glad to be rid of her clan and even her Keeper. She even told Hawke once that she never wanted to see him again. And Fenris was so in love and the two men had returned to each other, and it was all gone.

Gone.

She curled into a small ball and started keening, tears rolling down her face. Every smile, every laugh, every scream, every jeer that would never take place was because of her. Hawke and Marethari were right. The whole time, they were always right. But she was too proud to listen, thinking she knew what she was doing when she accepted the spirit’s offer and took on this mission that has only taken away lives and never granted a hint towards the past.

There was nothing to reclaim worth this.

She let her tears flow at their will, never so much as bothering to wipe her face free of their trails. At some point Isabela visited to report the completion of the semi-burial. The human was thanked and she stayed a while. Though Merrill had little desire to, she had an easier time getting around the small home. Her friend at some point mentioned that Hawke's will was going to be read the next day, and explained what a will was to her. The weaker one took note of it, but she knew she couldn't make it up the stairs.

The afternoon that the will was read, Isabela made her way up the stairs to the senechal's office with a little less sway than normal. The remaining companions were waiting there.

Bran stated with a very bored look in his eye, “Now that everyone is here, we can get this done.” Isabela held back the urge to punch him in the jaw as she leaned against the wall and crossed her arms.

“First is for Aveline Hendyr,” he said, holding a folded letter and a rolled parchment. She stood and collected both from his hand, and first unravelled the parchment then read the note.

“A cottage in the Orlesian countryside? ‘...With fields of marigolds as far as the eye can see...’” she couldn’t help a tiny chuckle from escaping her lips before muttering, “Hawke, you ass.”

She sat back down and Bran called up Isabela. The dark woman walked towards his desk as a servant came forward with a pair of shimmering daggers, a letter also placed with the gifts, as Bran mentioned she had a ship that was almost complete in the port of Antiva City as well. The daggers had curved, silver-toned blades with runes carved all down the spine, and gold-hued handle and jewels littering the back bolster.

Hawke sheathed his new blades and looked at the fallen enemies with a satisfied smile. Isabela smirked.

“Nice,” she said, “I might just take those for myself.”

He faced her with a grin and teased, “You’d have to pluck it from my cold, dead body.”

Isabela bit her lip at the memory. She snatched the daggers and the folded note left between them and left, the others watching as her feet hit the floor a little heavier than normal. Once she had escaped into her room at the Hanged Man, she collapsed with her back against the door and stared up at the ceiling. Her body quivered all over and her fists clenched, the paper crumpling in her hand. Then the tears broke through. Her arms fell limp and the daggers fell with a series of clangs, the paper rolling off somewhere. Her knees buckled and she slid down the door. Then after a few moments, she wrapped one arm around her legs while curling her upper body into them, resting her head on her knees, and slinking the other arm around to bury her fingers into her hair.

After Bran had finished and Anders returned to his clinic with a small chest, Sebastian, Aveline, and Varric gathered together in her office. The guard sat at her desk with her hands together and propped up by the elbows. The dwarf sat hunched in a chair with his eyes closed. The prince stood with his arms crossed, gazing out onto the overcast sky. The door was shut and only the occasional sound of metal on stone broke through the cracks.

"I should have been there," Aveline vocalized the dirge in their souls. She buried her face in her armored hands and breathed. Sebastian gripped his arms tightly as he remembered the last moments of his friend.

Sharp, hot breath scratching in his throat, a drummer without rhythm in his chest, screaming muscles - he jogged with Fenris slung over his shoulder and held onto his bloody friend tightly. Sebastian stormed into Anders' clinic as soon as he saw the lit lantern.

"Anders!" he called. The healer looked up from grinding a few herbs, lept to his feet and met with them.

“Put him here,” Anders pointed to a cot and Sebastian let down his wounded companion, the archer propping the patient up against his own shoulder while the healer grabbed the elf’s limp wrist.

Sebastian breathlessly hurried, “I saw - the worst is magical; Merrill attacked him and he started spitting blood.” Anders stood and took a few steps away from the bed, taking a few breaths and rubbing his temples and the blue-eyed human looked up at his mage companion.

“Anders, why aren’t you doing anything? He has been bleeding profusely since Sundermount - there’s no telling how much time he has left!” he called.

Anders sighed and turned around saying, “I can’t.”

The mage locked his stern gaze on his companion and said, “He’s already gone. There’s nothing I can do.”

Sebastian gripped his arms tightly. His shoulders and spine curled inward and his muscles quivered. Tears escaped while he squeezed his eyes shut and his brows caved towards the bridge of his nose. He sniffed a few times, his breathing became a bit harsh against the stillness of the air in the office. His right hand embraced his face as his heart screamed.

Varric slouched in his chair, eyes never lifting from the stone beneath him. The cavity in his chest reverberated the small sounds that Sebastian was making. The stories were gone and truth had been scattered and buried.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt can be found at: http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/10749.html?thread=42323965#t42323965


End file.
